In Your Blood
by jojospn
Summary: SPOILERS for 12x6, "Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox". Mary questions her decision to save young Asa. My take on what was running through Mary's head when confronted by Mrs. Fox


**A/N: Hi, again! I know it's been a long time since I've written anything on this site. My muse has been doing little in the inspiration department, sadly, but I really wanted to get back into writing. Hope you enjoy! SPOILERS for 12x6** _ **,**_ **"Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox." No copyright infringement intended.**

 **In Your Blood**

"I'm sorry."

I barely have time to apologize before Asa's mother interrupts me, those three words cutting into my gut like a rusty sword. "You should be." Some part of me, the hunter, wants to argue, defend myself before the grieving woman: your son would have likely died had I not intervened; joining the life had been Asa's decision, not my own... the usual arguments hunters pulled out whenever someone questioned their morals. And while I was aware that they were, indeed, valid points, the other part of me, the mother, was taking firm control. And so I listened quietly as Mrs. Fox slowly turns and searches for something on the shef behind her. "You're the reason my son didn't become an astronaut."

Before I can comment further, the older woman returns, a wooden box in her hand. "Asa wrote those to you over the years but couldn't send them because _you're so mysterious."_ Her voice drips with sarcasm as she hands the box over. Inside are several identical postcards, the faded "Greetings from Canada" gracing the front of each one. On the back of the first card is a short note:

 _Thank you very much for saving my life. I woud not be here if you didn't save me. I hope to see you again soon!_

 _-Asa_

But what haunts me the most is the address, blank save for a simple "to Mary Winchester." The kid had been trying to reach me for all these years? And yet, despite the agonizing guilt, I find myself still defending my actions before his mother, the child whose son had turned to hunting because of me. "I saved his life." And, as expected, the greiving woman simply scoffs. "After you, Asa got so... hunting was his whole life. He never married, never had a family, kids..."

 _Sam, married with kids and a cushy job as a paralegal, proudly gushing as Jessica announces they are expecting. Dean the owner of his own garage, a loving husband and father to his own rambunctious children. There is no hunting, and monsters are the cliched type in horror movies and hiding in closets or under beds._

And then she smiles cruelly at me. "Enjoy the wake," she spits, her words poison. I want to be upset at her, yell at her that Asa's death wasn't my fault and that I had _saved his goddamned life. Your son wouldn't even be here, you woud have had burried him thirty plus years earier if I hadn't saved him then._ But I remain silent; because as hurtful as her words are, as much as I want to justify my actions, my own maternal instincts kick in overdrive. I had been horrified when my boys had told me John had raised them as hunters. I, too, had not wanted my children exposed to the life of monsters, spirits, funeral pyres... What right had I to take this woman's only child from her? Because I may have extended Asa's life by thirty-odd years, but had I _truly_ saved _him_?

"I'm sorry," I say, but there is no one but the empty room to hear my apology. Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill, I pick up one of the postcards and once again read the message of a young boy, full of promise, of dreams dead and gone. "I'm so sorry, Asa."

XXX

"You saved Asa in 1980, um, after Dean was born, after everyone thought you quit hunting." I gaze downward at Sam's comment, unable to meet my own son in the eye. I know he is trying to comfort me, but once again I find the guilt gnawing at me. I know that my fate had already been sealed when I had made a deal with the Yellow Eyed Demon all those years ago, and not that night in Manitoba, but the irrational thought that Asa's life woud have been changed for the better had I not intervened continues to haunt me. Never mind that the boy would have died at the hands of that creature.

"Seems you coudn't stop then, and I'm guessing you can't stop now, either." I finally look up at my boy, the son I had last seen as a six month old, and once more my vision blurs. "This job, this life, it's crazy and insane, but it's in our blood." Sam also looks to be on the verge of tears and I find myself smiling at him. I know he's right, and yet the hurt still eats away at me. Is it because I am grieving too? While I have my sons, I have lost my _boys_ : the four-year-old who played with his toy trucks and played T-Ball; the baby boy who smelled of baby powder and Johnson's shampoo, who giggled in childish delight when I tickled his tummy and who clutched his teddy with pudgy fists when he went to bed. Am I being selfish? I had lost Sam and Dean's childhood, but I still have my sons, alive and well, while poor Asa Fox is lying dead in the parlour, waiting to be salted and burned.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?" I ask and Sam smiles sadly as he gently leads me out of the room. "To say goodbye to Asa."

XXX

"I was wrong."

I look up from the pyre and slowly my eyes meet those of Asa's mother. "Asa did have a family. He even had kids. I've got grandchildren." I should feel relief at hearing those words: they are vindication, clearing me of the blame for her boy's death. And yet, I feel numb, empty. Nothing Mrs. Fox can say will ever truly wash the blood from my hands. I watch as the older woman smiles at the thought of her newfound family, those who woud have never been born had I not intervened that night. And when moments later the reaper Billie offers me the chance to return to the dead, I almost take it. I am stil trying to adjust to my new life; hell, I feel like I am desperately clutching a raft caught in the strong currents of the rapids. But then I see the look of sorrow on Sam's face, the fear and grief in Dean's eyes. _You need your space, and so does Dean. I mean, we just got you back. And he's just scared we're gonna lose you again._

 _Oh, baby, you're never going to lose me._ And so I turn to that reaper and tell her to get lost. I laugh with my boys and head to a local diner for bacon, my boys' arms linked in mine. And while I still feel intense grief for the young man whose body is burning just behind me, I feel, for the first time since my return, at peace. I know that there is still a long road ahead. I need to heal, to come to terms with the death of my husband; with the fact that hunting will always be in my blood, and that sometimes, the job has lasting consequences. But for now, I slide into the passenger sead of John's old Impala, smile as Dean switches the radio on to cassic rock and chuckle when Sam complains about his brother's taste in music. I may need a few more weeks alone but this? It's a pretty good start.


End file.
